


Anew

by sixtieshairdo



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles is overwhelmed, Erik returns to say sorry, M/M, ambiguous ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:23:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtieshairdo/pseuds/sixtieshairdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is picking up the pieces after what happened in Cuba. Hank, Alex and Sean are by his side and doing their best to keep him at ease.</p>
<p>And then one day, Erik stops by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anew

Betrayal felt like an electric spear through his heart.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Literally speaking, however, it was a hard-hitting bullet that wrecked his nervous system and removed all feeling from his legs. Long gone are the little things he took for granted - wiggling his toes in the bath, stretching his legs when he wakes up every morning, shivering at each slide of Erik's foot up his ankle.

_Ah, Erik_.

Him.

Well, he. _He_ disappeared that sunshiny day on the Cuban beach, new army in tow. Mutants too stupid to notice the joke of a helmet on their leader's head. Or, perhaps, mutants too afraid to laugh. 

Charles wonders what kind of a leader Erik is. When he was working with Charles, he seemed content to take the backseat, uninterested in anything save for his own mission, letting Charles take the upper-hand and training the younger mutants. He even allowed Charles to push him harder, further, than Charles thought was possible.

Maybe Erik is a charmer. He is a good-looking bastard and he knows it. Charles knows Erik is headstrong and will do whatever it takes to control his team, even if it means he has to be charismatic. Then again, maybe he will rule them with an iron fist. Instil fear in them so they will never overstep their boundaries.

_Ah, Erik_.

He thinks fondly, almost, of his friend-turned-nemesis, _the things we could have accomplished together_.

The night is cool on his face. He closes his eyes and imagines that his feet are feeling cold too. He had just erased Moira's memory earlier; a task easier than he had expected. He knows that his face, his voice, his touch, have all dissipated from Moira's life - perhaps a shadow may linger, a semblance of contact, a flash of laughter. It meant a loss of a dear friend but after losing the use of his legs, and _then_ losing Erik, Charles feels that Moira's absence pales in comparison.

Six weeks of therapy taught Charles a lot about patience, control, faith and fear. He never knew he had the capacity to fear so much. Restless nights, enraged mornings, depressed afternoons - time was a blur of faces and emotions. Hank had done his best to redesign the mansion to fit Charles' needs, Alex was always present to help Charles with physical therapy and Sean somehow took upon himself the responsibility to keep Charles entertained. There was a silent pact going on between the boys that Charles is aware of - the determined pretense that one Erik Lehnsherr never existed.

They think as little of Erik as possible, speak of him even less.

They refer to him as Magneto.

If so much as a distant look was to flicker across his face, Charles would suddenly find Hank bombarding him with questions regarding his scientific experiments, or Alex launching into a tirade about Sean's incompetence as a cook, or Sean stuffing a cookie into Charles' mouth...proving that perhaps Alex _did_ have a reason to be annoyed.

The boys were fiercely protective of him. 

So it is without much of a surprise that Charles senses three very distinct projections of anger, hatred and fear, this faithful evening, when Erik arrives unannounced at the mansion.

...

Two fingers pressed against his temple later, Charles managed to convince Hank and Alex not to harm Erik, who strangely arrived alone sans ugly costume and even uglier helmet. A little more coaxing earned him a badly-shaken Sean, calming himself down with a cool drink. The boy had always been a little frightened of Erik after he was shoved off the satellite without preamble.

When the younger mutants agreed to stay inside as long as they were allowed to stand guard by the doors, Charles beckons Erik with his mind, directing him to the back of the mansion.

He keeps his eyes trained onto the sky; ashen-blue and stormy, it was his favourite weather for taking walks. 

"Charles."

He blinks at the clouds, looking a little thoughtful, almost as though there is nothing peculiar about this visit. He speaks to the dusky sun.

"Hello, Erik."

He hears movement, shoes stepping over ground. He feels Erik projecting thoughts, images, emotions at him, but he shuts himself off. 

Never again.

He hears disappointment in Erik's voice.

"Why are you closing me out? Charles, look at me."

He laughs, his eyes flitting to his nervous hands. He stills them before replying.

"You have your helmet, I have my own shield. What brings you to this side of the world?"

Charles allows himself to look at Erik's legs as he sees them nearing his wheelchair. Erik kneels at his feet and places his hands on Charles' reluctant ones.

"I'm sorry, Charles."

There is sincerity and heartbreak in that gravelly voice. Charles smiles softly at the sight of their hands together.

"It's fine, Erik. I'm fine. I promise you."

He tries to withdraw his hands from Erik's suffocating grasp. There's that heartbreak again, this time laced with anger.

"Why won't you look at me? Fuck, don't do this. Look at me, _please_."

Eyes blinking, focusing, on the space above the dark hair in front of him. Swaying trees and flower bushes and shadows. 

Calm your mind. 

He stops struggling. 

Politeness is key.

"Erik, let go of my hands. It's fine. I'm fine. Let me go."

Didn't work. 

Erik's hand is curled behind his neck, that once-familiar mouth pressed desperately over his unwilling lips. Charles presses his eyes closed, trying to resist Erik's urgent projections of _I'm sorry please look at me don't shut me out I'm fucking sorry I didn't know this happened I didn't know this would happen please Charles please please pl-_

Blindly, Charles' hands make contact with Erik's face and pushes him away.

He holds that once-dear face, rapt with mad tears, in place. His eyes finally meets Erik.

And all that he fears will happen, _does_.

His wide-opened hand slaps Erik hard across his face, drawing blood.

"Fuck you."

"Charles _please_."

Outstretched hands at him, again.

He hits Erik in the chest this time. 

"Fuck you, Erik! You and your stupid pride! You and your stupid ideas and your stupid helmet! You broke me. You ruined me. You left, Erik. You left!"

Half of the words sound like his voice, the other half sounds like his mind is screaming. His face hurts from crying, from being kissed, from seeing Erik after so _long_.

He hears and feels apologies all around him, arms tight around him, that once-known comfort, warmth, Erik, _oh Erik_ , love and pain and despair, encasing him.

His arms clutch at that body, that world-weary frame, fistfuls of fabric in his hands, the smell of Erik's hair, Erik's neck, Erik everywhere, everywhere Erik.

He slips into nothingness.

...


End file.
